


Significant Number of Others

by LittleMousling, moogle62



Series: CM Chatfic [17]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Commune, Communication, Emotional Vulnerability, Family, Found Family, Healthy Relationships, Love, Multi, Polyamory, Texting, Trust, and in hallways, closed polyamory, generosity of spirit, getting caught, getting caught making out on couches, happiness, just so much texting, lightly edited chatfic, lots of texting, making out on couches, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Before he forgets, he texts Akilah,keep an eye on those boys in Chicago for me, they’re sister-wifing hard.(or: Five times someone saw the commune, and one time they let themselves be seen)
Relationships: Emily Black Favreau/Hanna Koch Vietor, Emily Black Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Ronan Farrow/Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Hanna Koch Vietor/Tommy Vietor, Ronan Farrow/Jon Favreau, Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Series: CM Chatfic [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1231541
Comments: 35
Kudos: 102





	Significant Number of Others

**Author's Note:**

> We just really felt like dropping a happy, loving, caring PODSA fic today.
> 
> Content notes: contains a fictional, but predictably awful, Trump tweet; also contains fears about telling one’s family about a non-heterosexual relationship (but it’s all fine!)

**1\. Priyanka**

Priyanka is, admittedly, maybe running a little late to bring Pundit back, but what was she supposed to do? _Not_ get Pundit a pupaccino? Priyanka's not a _monster_ and also not above bribing a dog to like her.

Still, Lovett not answering the door isn’t a reasonable response. Unless he’s out. His car’s here, but since the move he’s taken to actually walking places. So anti-LA of him.

Priyanka has a key for emergencies. Being forgotten on the porch with Pundit and a melting frapp _is_ an emergency.

Plus, Pundit keeps looking at the closed door and then reproachfully back at her, and Priyanka isn't about to waste hard-earned bribery points. She digs the spare key out of her purse—Pundit's look of delight here makes her feel very smug, which is a bonus—and unlocks the door.

"Hey, are you home?" she says, cracking the door open. Pundit yips at her feet, trying to shove inside.

No immediate Lovett noises. She takes the leash off and trails Pundit inside. If Lovett’s out, Pundit needs fresh water before Priyanka leaves.

She’s crossing the living room for the kitchen when movement by the couch catches her eye. Movement _on_ the couch, she realizes when she turns her head.

"Oh my god," she blurts, when her brain catches up with her eyes, and then claps her hand over her mouth. "Sorry!"

Tommy, bolting up from the couch, is tugging his shirt back down. "Priyanka!"

"Uh—I’m blind suddenly? I don’t see anything!" Definitely not two of her bosses making out on the couch like teenagers, with _each other_. Definitely not Lovett pulling a pillow onto his lap, mouth bright red.

She remembers she should probably turn around, and does, whirling to face the kitchen. "Not that there's anything to see! Even if I could! Which I don't!"

Behind her, the couch creaks—maybe Lovett is getting up?—and the moment where everyone is clearly awkwardly fumbling for something to say means Priyanka has no immediate distraction from the, like, instant replay going in her brain: Lovett with one leg drawn up over Tommy's thigh, Tommy's shirt rucked up over his—frankly impressive—torso, hands in _places_.

"Uh, hey Pri," Tommy tries again. "Thanks for, uh, watching Pundit."

Lovett says, a little sharp, "That key is for _emergencies_."

"Okay, okay, let me just—" Tommy walks around into her eyeline. He’s put together again; he doesn’t look like anyone who’s just been engaged in, in, in adulterous heavy petting, except for his lobster-red face. "I know this must seem, um. Bad."

"No judgment!" Priyanka says. Is there judgment? She needs a lot more distance from this situation before she can figure that out. _But Ronan!_ her brain is going. _But Hanna!_ But also—Tommy and Lovett. She's surprised, but she's not _surprised_. Huh.

"Good. Great. It’s not what it looks like," Tommy says, which is too cliche even for him; he crinkles up his nose as he says it, amends, "I mean. Nothing you need to worry about. Or like—"

"You’re terrible at this." Lovett walks up holding Pundit close to his chest. "Thanks for the dog sitting. I’ll cashapp you. See you at work. Bye!"

That's a pretty clear indicator that she should be getting the hell out, so she heads back for the door. Lovett, surprisingly, trails her. He's not usually someone to draw situations out when he's uncomfortable. Maybe he wants to make sure she's going? Maybe he wants to put some distance between himself and Tommy?

"I'm not gonna, like, say anything," Priyanka tells him, as she's stepping outside.

"Which I’m going to immediately point out is not a job requirement or anything," Tommy calls from inside the house. Lovett rolls his eyes and shuts the door so it’s just him and Priyanka on the porch.

"It’s not anything anyone needs to know," Lovett says. "Except the people who already do, which is more than you and me and Tommy. You get me?"

She doesn’t. She nods, backing away towards her car.

Lovett doesn't try to stop her, just stands there, Pundit still clutched to his chest. He doesn't look happy, eyebrows tugging together, mouth drawn down.

Priyanka makes it home before getting her phone out, _only_ because she sees three cops in the first two miles and gets paranoid.

_Are you in tomorrow?_ she texts Elijah. _Huge gossip. Must be explained in person._

_is this good gossip or is this about pumpkins again?_ Elijah sends.

_Pumpkin gossip is the BEST gossip but this is sex gossip soooo_

She gets back _nice_ and then _recording ads first thing but we can grab lunch after?_

_deal_, Priyanka sends, and resigns herself to a whole evening of not being able to tell her housemate anything at all.

Her apartment is empty without Pundit in it. She’s still thinking about getting a dog, except they’re on tour again soon and she knows exactly how expensive dog-sitting is. Lovett can afford it; she’d probably have to stop eating so much takeout.

Lovett and _Tommy_. Lovett and Tommy, getting hot and heavy! What in the actual fuck!

It's not that she never thought there could be something there—it's impossible to work around Jon and Lovett and Tommy and _not_ think about it, the way they're always with each other, the way they make each other light up, the way they seem to share moods like well-worn clothes—but, like, if she'd had to name someone in the office most likely to have an extra-marital affair, she wouldn't have picked Tommy in a million years. He practically has monogamy tattooed on his forehead.

Monogamy. Huh. What was it Lovett said, about everyone who needs to know already knowing?

Maybe—maybe Hanna’s fine with it? That’s weirdly easier to process than Tommy cheating. Priyanka’s only met Hanna a handful of times, but she’s very cool-girl. Maybe cool-girl enough to brush off her husband boinking Lovett, although that doesn’t make Tommy come out much better in Priyanka’s mind. The more she turns it over, the more there’s a tinge of—of maybe she’s not cool-girl enough herself to think Hanna should have to be fine with it.

But then she's left with two immovable objects: Tommy wouldn't cheat, and Hanna shouldn't have to be fine with her husband having an extra partner. Priyanka goes to bake cookies about this.

Somewhere around adding the chocolate chips, she thinks, _What if Hanna's involved?_

Except—not with Lovett, surely. There’s Ronan, but it’s easier to picture him and Lovett having the kind of open relationship that half her gay friends seem to have. But maybe Hanna and Tommy have that, too. Maybe she’s got some—some—some _guy_, entertaining her while Tommy’s away. At Lovett’s place.

It’s too much. Portioning out cookies onto the silpat isn’t enough distraction. It’s just too weird. Maybe because it unbalances their work trio if Lovett and Tommy are fooling around. Does Favs even know? Is he one of the people who would need to know?

Somehow that seems like the worst option. She can't imagine two of them keeping something from the other one, especially not from Favs, who wanders around the office like he's lost when Tommy and Lovett are out, who lights up when they make him laugh, who's always the first to draw them into conversation, to reach out, to look to them.

So maybe, probably, Lovett’s mental list of _who needs to know_ includes Favs. And probably Emily, because Favs isn’t good at keeping secrets at the best of times and there’s no way he could keep that secret from his wife. Even if Hanna did, or wanted him to ... and if Hanna has someone, too, maybe they know about that? Or not?

The phone rings, and it’s her mom. Half an hour later, Priyanka’s munching on cookies, watching Netflix, and has more or less been able to put aside the strange morning events until she can tell Elijah tomorrow.

***

**2\. Elijah**

Elijah's checking the sound set-up before the ad recording when Priyanka hurries in. "Gossip time!" she says, loudly whispering. "You will not _believe_ what—wait, who's here? Who's in already?"

"Early start," Elijah says, waving her off as Tommy walks in, Favs close behind him. So much for a full round of pre-recording checks. "Can we—"

"—copy for that new sponsor," Priyanka says, too loudly and apropos of nothing. "I’ll slack you. Bye!" She scurries out, and Elijah definitely doesn’t have time to follow her. Even Lovett’s here, rolling in with a cap low over his eyes and a giant Starbucks cup in one hand.

They've been doing this for a couple of years now, and Elijah's gotten pretty good at reading the room, knowing before they start how things are going to go, if Lovett's feeling ornery or Tommy hasn't slept, if something's up. It's almost immediately clear that something's off.

Favs is picking fights, which isn’t usually his role. Not with the sponsors, at least, but definitely with Lovett and Tommy and a little bit with the furniture.

Lovett gets up and hands Leo to Favs after the first three attempts at a clean Ziprecruiter ad. If Lovett’s the one in problem-solving mode, that’s not what Elijah would call a good sign.

"Like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Favs finally manages, although he's not lost any of the distaste in his tone. "Find the right person for your role with Ziprecruiter. Missing someone? Ziprecruiter. Maybe they'd be able to fix the coffee machine."

Elijah can live with that, except that Tommy pipes up, "it’s not about missing people, Jon. It’s a hiring app." He sounds frustrated. "You remember, from the other hundred thousand times we’ve recorded it? Can we just get through it, please?"

"Sure it is," Favs says. Oh, good: doubling down. That always gets them through the ads faster. Fuck Elijah’s whole life. "It’s about feeling a lack! Lovett gets it, don’t you, Lovett? When someone’s gone all the time and you need—"

"A replacement?" Lovett says, deadpan. "Nope, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I like my space."

"Space won't notice when the coffee machine's broken," Favs counters. "Space doesn't keep you company when you're the first person up. Space isn't—"

"—the perfect person for your job vacancy?" Tommy says, pointedly.

Elijah can build on that. "Let’s go from the top, guys."

They don’t listen to him, which tracks for when they’re in this kind of mood. "We invited you guys over," Lovett’s saying, and Favs is already talking over him, "—not the point, I’m just saying that some people aren’t around at all right now and that’s a vacancy that requires, uh—Ziprecruiter."

"_Jon_," Lovett says, real exasperation creeping in. "You have to _tell us_ when you're feeling like that, we all _said_—"

"—that we'd have open conversations about, uh, hiring?" Tommy's going very still, expression blank. Elijah's known them all long enough to know he's hiding something too, uncomfortable, or like Elijah imagines he must have been in the White House, keeping his cards close. Maybe Tommy will get them back on track for the ads.

"—and he’s on a book tour, okay, it’s not like he wants to be all over the world—"

"He definitely does," Favs says, and then his eye catches on Elijah. "Which is, uh. Very hard on you, and it’s just—you know, obvious how much you ... miss him."

Elijah would say he’s following this—book tour, Lovett missing him, that’s Ronan alright, except that they’re all just back from Thanksgiving and Lovett was definitely with the Farrows. Not that Elijah tracks him or anything, he just likes Mia’s Instagram. And twitter. And secret Facebook Lovett told him it was okay to friend.

Usually when ads go awry in the Ronan direction, Favs and Tommy are the ones trying to pull it back, to minimize how often Ronan is away, or the inconveniences. Elijah remembers 2017: he didn't know what was going on, of course, but he remembers Lovett getting quiet and furious by turns, Jon and Tommy coaxing and comforting him through recordings sometimes, letting things go that they usually wouldn't. But that's Lovett. Not Favs.

And Lovett looks fine. Well, irritated by the ad going awry, but not sad or anything. "Listen, if you—uh, if I miss him, that’s what the phone’s for. He’s great on the phone," Lovett says, voice gentle.

"I don’t want to, like—"

"You wouldn’t be," Lovett tells him. "Seriously. He’d love to talk to ... me."

Favs is unlocking and locking his phone, like a nervous tic. Elijah frowns. What even is this?

Lovett reaches over and puts his hand over Favs' wrist, stilling the movement. "Hey. He'd love to, alright? We'll—I'll call him. At lunch. Hey, look, I'll text him—" and he is, thumbs flying over his screen. Tommy doesn't comment, or stop him.

"It’s not the same," Favs says, soft.

"Believe me, I know," Lovett says, "but it helps." He pauses, looking up from his phone. "Uh. Elijah. Can we have five minutes? And—we’ll scrap this audio and start fresh, obviously." 

"Sure," Elijah says, already moving. Lovett doesn't ask for pauses often, and this is—this ad is already unusable, they're going to have to start over anyway. He leaves the set-up as is, just stops the recording. He checks over his shoulder as he and Caroline are heading out, habit, making sure he hasn't left anything essential and there—

It's nothing. It's really nothing. It's just Favs and Tommy and Lovett, heads bending together, the three of them curling towards each other like parentheses, clustering around Lovett's phone. It's something in the shy curve of Favs' smile as Lovett makes him laugh, something in the way Tommy's leaning so close to them, in the way Favs lets his fingers linger when Lovett passes his phone over, and Elijah thinks about Priyanka and her gossip, and the way she backpedalled when the bosses came in.

He’s only got five, officially, but he bets it’ll be more like fifteen. Priyanka’s not at her desk, but he finds her talking to Alison and Nikki. She lights up when she sees him. "Conference room?" he suggests, and she excuses herself and trails him to the nearest one, mercifully empty.

"Um, you gotta tell me what you know, because something very weird just happened," he tells her, as soon as the door clicks shut.

"Weird like Tommy and Lovett fully making out?" Priyanka hisses, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Because guess what! They were!"

Elijah‘s head jerks up. He feels like she’s just short-circuited his brain. "What?" Tommy and Lovett? "Are you sure?"

She frowns at him. "Um, yes, I’m sure! Tommy was halfway to shirtless! I basically interrupted their foreplay, probably! I’m definitely sure!" 

"Like, _sure_ sure?" It's not that Elijah doesn't believe her, more that he needs to hear it again. Tommy and Lovett. Tommy and _Lovett_.

"How much surer than shirtless do you want, Elijah? They are one hundo percent boning down. Did they seem weird in the ads? Are you guys finished already?"

"We’re on break because they were super hella weird in the ads, but it definitely wasn’t Tommy and Lovett. It was Jon, like ... I don’t even know. Getting all emo about Ronan."

Priyanka looks as nonplussed as he feels. "About _Ronan_? Farrow?"

"No, that other Ronan we all know. Yeah, Farrow."

Priyanka scrunches her face up. "Do you think... huh. Could you see that? Jon and Ronan? Horizontal tango?"

"I don’t think that’s what it was about," Elijah protests, except ... well, maybe. "He just seemed bummed about not seeing him much while he’s on the book tour. But he tried to play it off like Lovett misses him."

"Lovett was like, just there. That’s why I had Pundit," Priyanka says, and Elijah swallows the urge to brag that he already worked that part out.

"So Lovett and Ronan are still together," Elijah says, thinking out loud. "And ... Lovett and Tommy?" Weird, still super weird. "And Jon and Ronan? Maybe?" There are some glaring flaws in this guess: wives, for one, and that doesn't cover the way Jon and Tommy are with each other, or the way all three of them seem so in sync, living in each other's pockets. Elijah can't imagine two of them without the other.

"I don’t know," Priyanka says, voiced like a protest. "I’m still struggling on the Tommy and Lovett part! This is just weird now."

"It wasn’t weird when you walked in on two of our bosses making out?"

"I mean, yeah, but like, less them making out than all the bits around it, you know? What about Hanna?"

"Well—yeah. And Emily. If they have some kind of, like ... gay foursome thing going on."

"We don’t know it’s a foursome!" Priyanka says, and then, "Oh my god! It’s a gay foursome!"

"I mean, I guess it could be a gay ... line of twosomes. Jon and Ronan, Ronan and Lovett, Lovett and Tommy. But like ... it felt kind of foursome-y just now, recording." Elijah should maybe personally make sure that audio gets deleted. Maybe after he and Priyanka listen back to it. 

"You're gonna play me that audio, right?" Priyanka asks, demonstrating her uncanny ability to guess what Elijah's thinking at any given time. "I brought you this hot goss, it's only fair." Then, switching topics back again: "But like, Emily and Lovett seem like something, right? Like, if you think about it now?"

"Uh—no," Elijah says, hoping he’s adequately conveying the degree of no he means. "I’m absolutely sure Lovett wouldn’t touch a boob with a ten-foot pole."

"Not—god, not like that! Like ... I don’t know. Like really close. Like they talk about boys together. Like—like sister-wives! You know?"

"Sister-wives," Elijah repeats. It doesn't sound implausible, now. Nothing sounds implausible now. He could go back into the recording room and find his three bosses tangled up on the desk and he might not flinch.

Speaking of which— "I gotta make sure they know where to find me," he says, reluctantly. "But we’ll get lunch later?"

"I’m gonna have so many new theories by then," Priyanka agrees. "Get me that audio."

Elijah sends the audio over right before he wipes it from everywhere he can think of on the work servers. It takes roughly thirty seconds before Priyanka starts texting him.

_omg Jon is in a MOOD_

_what is he even talking about_

_it IS about Ronan wtaf_

_lol Lovett’s like "nah I’m good actually"_

Elijah makes sure his phone is out of view, because notifications are lighting it up.

_okay for real tho are they smashing?_

_what was the vibe????_

_Comforting? I guess?_ Elijah manages to send back, and then just, _intimate_, before he has to concentrate on recording.

Whatever they did while everyone else was out of the room, the dynamic between Jon and Tommy and Lovett is noticeably better. Jon seems almost comically happier, and they get all the way to the last CashApp ad without incident. Good. "Brought to you by the CashApp!" Lovett announces.

"And, that’s a wrap," Elijah announces. "Great job, guys. Are we launching right into Pod Save the World or Lovett or Leave It?"

"After lunch," Favs says, smiling softly. "I gotta go take a call."

_I think Jon's calling Ronan_, Elijah sends. _also I think you might be right_

_he had his Emily face_

Priyanka’s typing before he even hits send on the third message. _I hate that I know exactly what you mean_

_like fond and soft and daydreamy?_

_love is gross_

There’s a pause, Elijah gathering his things, and then, _WAIT FUCK DOES HE LOVE _

_!RONAN!?_

Elijah ... is gonna have to contemplate that. With a beer to help him handle it. _We’re getting drinks at lunch_, he sends back. _Meet you out front in ten._

***

**3\. Ira**

Ira appreciates many things about the Crooked holiday party but one of the highlights is the clear attention to selfie detail. The _photobooth_. Promising.

The custom cocktails are corny but delicious, which is a combination he's prepared to accept. Overall, it's obvious this party wasn't planned by Tommy and the Jons. Tanya, maybe. Tanya has style.

He ends up in a corner with Louis, like always, but eventually makes himself do the rounds. A photo with Favreau, to amuse twitter; a few with his producer and editor, because it never hurts to curry favor with the people who make him sound good; and a half-dozen with Priyanka, because she's always down for a good time.

He's just off to find Tommy, scanning the room for an obnoxiously tall white dude. He ducks out to the hall for a second—sometimes Tommy needs a break, if places are really crowded—but there's no Tommy there, and he's turning back to the door when in his peripheral vision he catches sight of—people making out—ladies making out—Emily and Hanna making out?

Mother_fucker_. He thought they were okay—Emily, especially, he’s hung out with a few times at Crooked-adjacent gatherings, and she’s got that white-girl cheerleader-sorority-HONY look, but he’d really thought she was okay. Not the type to make out with some other hot white girl for attention.

For ... attention, except he can’t see Jon or Tommy, or anybody else, either, and this hallway isn’t dark enough to hide anybody. He looks behind him, but there’s no one there, either.

There's just Emily and Hanna pressed up against the wall, Emily's hands in Hanna's hair, and they haven't even noticed him.

Emily’s hands in Hanna’s hair, and Emily’s hand grabbing at the curve of Hanna’s ass, yanking her in close. This is dialling up, and he’s their only actual audience, and he needs to clear out right now.

He fumbles his way back into the party, letting the door shut heavily behind him because they should probably know they haven’t chosen the most private spot in the world. Then he just stands in front of it, eyes wide in the dim party light, looking at nothing, because _what the fuck_?

He's almost tempted to open the door again just to see whether he was having some sort of party-induced hallucination, but he doesn't. Do Jon and Tommy know that their wives are making out in the corridor? Wait.

Are Jon and Tommy making out? Because _that_ he'd take a second look at.

He doesn’t really know how straights do openness. Swinging? Isn’t it swinging when old married het couples do it? Not that Emily and Hanna seemed exactly straight in that hallway just now. 

He's going to need another drink to wrap his head around this. At least one more drink. He's just moving away from the door when it opens, and Emily and Hanna spill through, giggling, hand in hand.

They don't even see him; they don't have eyes for anyone but each other, at least until they're far enough into the crowd that he stops being able to tell. It feels no small amount like he's in a Days plot. Is it swinging? Is it a Grace and Frankie situation, and they're cheating on their husbands? Is it some kind of wildly modern polyamorous quadrilateral, and if so, how does he not already know about it from Tommy or Jon? Or Lovett, for that matter, who Ira's gotten high with at least twice this year.

Lovett would have told him, right? Gay solidarity?

Although Lovett is often tight-lipped about Jon and Tommy, in a way he doesn't often get about many people. Maybe he knows more than he's telling.

Maybe—Ira's jostled out of his thought by Priyanka stepping into his immediate field of vision. Well, the lower half, anyway. "You look weird, what's up?"

Blunt. Ira likes that in a coworker. "Weird is about right," he agrees. "People around here keeping secrets, I don't know."

Priyanka narrows her eyes at him, and then her expression completely changes. "What secrets?" she says, in a promisingly gossip-laden tone. "What do you know?"

Ira probably should shut up, but this is top-notch gossip and Priyanka's caught him before he can take it to anyone else. "Okay, well, keep this to yourself, but guess who I just caught making out in the back hallway?"

"Tommy and Lovett," she says, instantly, like it isn't even a question. He blinks at her, and she amends, "Okay—Favreau and Ronan."

"Clearly I need to know what _you_ know," Ira tells her, and takes another look around for anyone close enough to hear them.

They're away from the main throng of the party, but they step closer to the door anyway. Priyanka beckons him closer, and of course Ira goes. This feels big. This feels like something Louis is not going to believe.

"Lovett and Tommy are deffo doing it," Priyanka informs him. "And Favs is all the way gone on Ronan, for sure. What do _you_ know?"

Honestly Ira might need a minute for _Lovett and Tommy are definitely doing it._

"Who told you? Because I’m about to launch a full Cold War on Lovett and anybody else queer who didn’t share the tea. Which I guess is all of them, if I’m hearing right. Jesus." _Jesus._

"I walked in on Tommy and Lovett," Priyanka’s saying, "and Elijah was recording ads when Favs got all weird and mushy about Ronan. We think it’s more than that, but—"

"Oh, it definitely is," Ira interrupts, and enjoys the startled, intrigued look on her face.

"What do you know?" Priyanka asks, and then, when he makes a deliberately infuriating expression: "Ira! You tell me right now!"

"Well," he says, drawing it out, enjoying this, "as I said, I saw some making out in the back hallway. It wasn’t Lovett and Tommy, and it wasn’t Favreau and Ronan. It was ..." He lets the moment hang like a rose-ceremony announcement, until Priyanka flicks him on the arm. "Um, ow! Fine. It was Emily and Hanna."

Priyanka's gasp is very rewarding. She flicks him on the arm again but that seems to be excitement-based, so Ira doesn't mind that one. "Emily and Hanna! I _knew_ they wouldn't be left out!"

"Left out?" Ira asks, but he’s getting it even before she starts explaining. Tommy and Lovett, Favs and Ronan—yeah, okay.

"So," he interrupts her, "do we think it’s just the six of them or do they fool around outside the group? Because Tommy does have a rockin’ bod, I wouldn’t say no to that now that I know he swings both ways."

"Further investigation needed, I think," Priyanka says, and takes a drink. She's got something bright in a glass with a straw and Ira needs at least two of them just to process this. "I don't know, though, the guys strike me as like, you know—"

"—Hot for monogomy?" Ira interrupts, because, _yeah_, they've all met Jon and Tommy. "Or hot for specifically defined six-way polygamous relationships. Yeah."

"This is so wild," Priyanka says. "I gotta update Elijah. He’s gonna freak."

Ira shakes his head. "It’s always the ones you don’t suspect. They probably have sex dungeons and, like, 50 Shades contracts drafted up by the company lawyer."

"Okay, some of us have to work here every day and not, like, picture that," Priyanka tells him.

"Some of us didn't already get the full frontal," Ira counters.

"Ew, no, it wasn't—everyone had pants! Pants were on!"

"Sure," Ira says, grinning at her. "I need a drink, you coming?"

"As long as you keep your fantasizing about Tommy and Lovett to yourself," Priyanka tells him.

"Tommy, Lovett, Favreau, and Ronan," Ira corrects her. "One big bed. Now there’s an image to contemplate."

"You know technically most of them are your bosses too—no, no, no, stop making that face. I can hear that face and contemplation should be silent!"

Ira gives her another eyebrow waggle for good measure, and relents. "Come on," he says. "Let's toast our discovery."

Hours later, in a Lyft home from the club he went to after the after-party, with the sun rising over the mountains, Ira gets a series of texts from Priyanka.

_I can’t believe you put these images in my head_

_they probably don’t even do that_

_ANY of that_

_it’s missionary twosomes in the dark under the covers ONLY_

_probably with pants on!!!!!!!_

_sure jan_, Ira sends. _pants and protection_

He can almost feel Priyanka’s reaction to that idea, and can’t help but laugh when she sends back _oh my fucking god of course protection!_

_idk_, Ira sends her. _Committed sixsome fluid bonding all oooooover each other, probably_

_gross!!!!_ makes Ira laugh; it's almost too easy. _just for that I'm not telling you the next time i see our bosses in a state of undress_

_not that there's gonna be a next time_

Ira almost lets it go there, goes back to his other conversations, except—_aren't they going on tour next week? I bet they all exchange hotel key cards on tour_

_you should sneak around and see what they're up to_

He gets back another gross and then _ugh, I'm not even going on this tour, anyway. I'm not looping Travis or Akilah or someone in as my accomplice._

_bet you they find out_, Ira sends. _I'D want Akilah on my side._

He yawns; the sun’s almost fully up now, and he’s almost home. Before he forgets, he texts Akilah, _keep an eye on those boys in Chicago for me, they’re sister-wifing hard._ She’ll ask what he’s talking about or she won’t. He’s done thinking about their drama for now; he’s got plenty of his own to take up his time and energy, thanks.

"That one—yeah. Thanks," he tells the driver, and climbs out. Plenty of time for a nap before brunch.

***

**4\. Akilah**

Akilah spent a sweaty LA afternoon searching for the right look for each show of this tour and she'd call it procrastination biting her in the ass except that it worked out _fantastically_ and her butt looks great in these pants.

Doing both shows back to back may be exhausting, but at least she looks bangin’. And unlike Lovett, she didn’t have to lead either of them, so she has a lot less to complain about than he does.

Which ... he looks pretty ready to complain, actually, when he comes offstage. He hasn’t stayed back to let people say hi the way he usually does when Lovett or Leave It travels, which is the major clue he isn’t feeling great. The other big clue is, like, his whole face.

Lovett is never particularly difficult to read, but right now he's practically radiating Something's Up. Akilah thinks she's got a pretty good idea what it is: the audience energy never felt right tonight, especially in the second show, and Lovett hates that, hates when he can't get it back.

He’s on the move, and she thinks she’d better give him a few minutes. Lovett’s great, but he’s sensitive, and he’ll be way more receptive to her trying to distract him if he gets to calm down first.

She opens twitter instead, in time to learn—fuck—that there’s been another warning from North Korea, and a predictably stupid series of tweets in response from Trump. Culminating in … _we will respond with fire and fury. including nuclear!_

Terrific.

Scrolling back a bit, checking reactions and timestamps, it clicks that, yeah, okay, no wonder people were responding weird to the show if half of them were thinking about _this_.

Ugh. They should start taking phones away. Well, no, they shouldn't, but—ugh. All the show high has suddenly left her system, because that's what it's like in 2020, but she takes a minute to scroll through her instagram and that gets her equilibrium back. More or less.

She wonders if Lovett knows. He probably hasn't had enough time to get himself together, but maybe she should go tell him not to check Twitter for a couple minutes? Or tell _someone_, at least, see if they can get Lovett a distraction barrier between a weird show and the latest good fun time Trump fandango.

She hasn't been able to break herself of the habit of tip-toeing around backstages of venues; it always feels like she's going to run across a dead body, a stagehand doing coke, or maybe an orgy. She's probably been watching too much prestige TV lately. Either way, she creeps—feeling like a creep—around until she hears Lovett's voice coming from inside one of the green rooms. 

"This is a _shitty_ year," he's saying. "I know we keep saying that about all the fucking years and at some point we're all just gonna get inured to that feeling but it _is_." 

Ah. He's checked Twitter already. 

She figures he's on the phone to Ronan, and she maybe shouldn't burst right in, but there's something in his tone that's too close to tears to think it's right to just step away and pretend she didn't hear him. She sidles closer, instead, until she can see around the door to where he's—

Not on the phone at all, actually. He's curled up on the green-room couch with his head in Emily's lap, Emily curled over him with one hand stroking his hair.

"You're allowed to think it sucks if a show doesn't go the way you want," Emily says, which doesn't quite follow what Lovett was talking about, but Emily always does seem to get Lovett on a different level than he's presenting on the surface.

Huh. Akilah wouldn't have called this, though. Did Lovett seek her out rather than calling Ronan? 

Than calling Jon or Tommy, even, who are probably back at the hotel, barely four blocks away. Or Akilah herself, because she gives pretty great sympathy. Although she probably wouldn’t be—is Emily curling up behind him, now? She’s shifting around on the couch and pulling him and, uh, yeah, that’s fully spooning now. Akilah tucks herself against the wall, more out of sight.

Look, Akilah's not saying she _wouldn't_ spoon Lovett, or any of her friends, if that's what they needed in their time of emotional vulnerability, but it sure wouldn't be her first thought, especially for Lovett, who blows hot and cold about touching his friends sometimes, mercurial according to his own fluctuating rules.

She certainly wouldn’t just wrap herself around him like it’s something they do all the time, the way Emily’s doing. "—feel bad about feeling bad," Emily says, wrapping an arm around Lovett’s chest and tugging him against her. "That’s stupid."

"Oh, that's comforting," Lovett grumbles, but he's bringing their linked hands up, pulling them against his face, nuzzling against them. _Nuzzling._ "Telling me I'm stupid, great, now I feel much better."

What is going _on?_

"Everyone has stupid feelings. You’re so smart you have extra levels of meta in your stupid feelings. It’s okay to be sad the show wasn’t as good as it could have been, and it’s okay even if it was because, you know, the threat of nuclear winter got everyone down in the dumps. That doesn’t make you a bad person." Emily pauses. "What makes you a bad person is your terrible wedding gifts."

Lovett laughs, a snort that sounds like it’s turned him around from the path towards crying. He kisses the back of Emily’s hand, and she kisses his hair.

Lovett's eyes flicker closed, the corners of his mouth turning up, and Akilah suddenly realises she's just standing there watching, and that she really needs not to be, because there's checking on a friend and then there's whatever she's been doing for the last couple of minutes and that it really needs to stop.

And it's not like—she didn't see anything _off_, not really. She didn't see anything she couldn't just shrug at, explain as good close friends, a moment of comfort. But.

_what did you mean about sister-wives???_ she texts Ira.

It’s only ten in LA; Ira probably hasn’t left for his first outing of the night, because he texts back instantly. _Oh my god what happened why do you ask_

_are they naked_

_don’t judge me but I have some dick-related questions if yes_

Akilah waits to see if he’ll be any more illuminating, and then sends _Is who naked? Nobody’s naked and there’s only one dick around here rn_

_if no one's naked, what are you talking about?_

_what are YOU talking about???????_ Being Ira's friend is a challenge sometimes.

_You texted me! You explain_, Ira sends, and Akilah rolls her eyes but starts recounting the story. She isn’t sure she’s getting it right; there had been more than the words and the physicality. Emily and Lovett had seemed—on the same wavelength. Intimate and familiar. She tries to get that across, all in one long block of text.

_SISTER WIVES_, Ira sends back, and then, _they're totally all fucking._

_All who??_ Akilah sends, but she thinks she knows, actually, even before she gets back Ira’s _jon&emily&jon&ronan&tommy&hanna_

_I don’t think they’re ALL fucking_, she sends back, but she’s bubbling over with the excitement of this gossip. _How do you know? Tell me your stuff now!_

She doesn't know what she's expecting, but what she gets is a ten message series of varying letter sizes including some slightly confusing asides about pants, and the gist is: huh, maybe they _are_ all fucking.

She shouldn’t, but she creeps back along the hallway to look in on Lovett and Emily again. They’re cheerier now, sitting up and laughing. They’re sitting close, still, Emily’s hand on Lovett’s leg. Their chemistry’s still intimate, but Akilah wouldn’t call it sexual, exactly. She sneaks away again and texts back _I don’t think Lovett and Emily are fucking_ and gets back an irritating _duh._

_You said all of them!_

_the ones with compatible sexualities!_

_well you didn't specify,_ Akilah points out, and then: _did you know emily and hanna were into women? did you know jon and Tommy were into dudes???_

Ira texts back, _I never said this but somehow, I knew nothing. nothing!! these fluid enigmas out here confusing my gaydar_

Akilah laughs, and moves farther away from the door so Emily and Lovett won't hear her. _You learn something new every day, I guess? Wild. I guess I shouldn't interrupt them, huh?_

She wants to; not to get in their way, but just to give Lovett her own hug and tell him he did a great job.

She'll see him tomorrow, though, at bus call. Maybe it can wait.

Maybe the wait will even be good: maybe there'll be less of a chance that she'll see him and just immediately congratulate him on his successful newfound sixsome. That's probably not the way to go there.

_So do you think they’re hotel-key-swapping?_ she muses to Ira. _or all in one bed in one suite?_

_you’re a lot chiller about the sex parts than priyanka is,_ Ira sends back. _dunno. They’re old. Even four in a big hotel bed is too many. I would know._

_of course you would_, Akilah sends. Honestly, she can kind of see the six of them—or a smaller configuration, whatever—smushed into one bed. Even with Lovett's occasional touch-aversion, Jon and Tommy and Lovett spend a lot of time crammed into each other's personal space as it is.

_gotta run. text me if you see any dicks_, Ira sends, and Akilah rolls her eyes, grinning, and pockets her phone.

She gives up on the idea of trying to say something to Lovett and gets her stuff, instead. It’s a nice walk to the hotel; she can grab a sandwich on the way, if anything’s open.

Ordinarily she'd text to see if Lovett wanted anything, or if he wanted to come on a sandwich adventure with her, but that's out for the night. She's pulling her headphones on, thumbing open her podcast app, when she sees Ronan's podcast high in the list—it's alphabetical, not by update time, which Lovett never misses a chance to point out—and thinks, huh. _Ronan_.

It's hard to imagine asking Lovett about this. He's sometimes intensely private, and she's talked about a lot of stuff with him on the tour nights they all get drunk and sit around chatting, but there are very clear boundaries around some things for him.

Ronan, on the other hand ... she doesn't see him as often, but when they hang out, they talk about anything and everything. They've both had complicated relationships with the spotlight, and once, in Miami, they stayed up until 4AM on a balcony with mai-tais talking about fame and internet trolls and the scary-but-not-police-reportable-letters folder each of them keeps.

She could ask him about it. She could ask what she wants to know, which is—all of her very pressing logistical questions aside—if they're all happy. When it started. And also if they get six of them in one bed somehow, because surely that's not possible. Do they just have a room that's a bed?

He _is_ coming out to the tour for the PNW stops. Maybe ... maybe she'll ask him about it. She bets it's nice, if you're in a different kind of relationship, to be able to talk about it sometimes.

Especially if you're Ronan, who’s been press-trained and media-aware since probably before he could walk. It must be nice for him to get to talk about his relationship with someone who isn't going to judge, except maybe if he withholds important details like whether Jon Favreau manages to look handsome first thing in the morning or if the world is just and fair and he gets morning breath and nose hairs like the rest of the planet.

Akilah twists her mouth, and then texts him. _When do you get to Seattle? I miss you, you should hang out with me instead of Lovett, you see him all the tiiiiiime._ After the first time he fell over laughing at her petulant toddler impression, she's worked it into a lot of their conversations. She's maybe whinier with Ronan than she is with her mom, but then, he enjoys her whining a lot more than her mom does.He's almost as fast as Ira. _That seems eminently reasonable. Want to get dinner between soundcheck and the show? _

No one else uses words like _eminently_ when they're texting her. Ronan's so great.

_sold_, she sends. _be there or be square!!!_

_I’ll probably be both_, he sends back, _but you’re hepcat enough for the both of us._

***

Akilah’s barely awake when her phone buzzes. _Help?_

It’s Ronan, who she hasn’t seen since the tour, so she blinks up to awareness and sends back just _what’s up?_

_How do normal people talk to their mothers?_ Well, that's a whole thing.

_Uh, it varies? Can I get a jeopardy category here?_

The three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, and then she gets, _Without either of us making specific reference by text, do you remember the conversation we had at dinner in Seattle?_

Does Akilah remember when she sat Ronan down and got him to talk about his logistically impressive six-way polyamorous relationship? It's possible that's stuck with her.

_For sure_

_Is that what you're trying to talk to Mia about?_

More dots. Ronan's really thinking about this one. _I want to extend a wider invitation to the farm for Christmas, and I think it will be accepted, but obviously I have to explain to my mom why I'd like her to make room and extra food, etc_

Akilah has never met Mia Farrow but she can't imagine someone who got high with the Beatles being particularly precious about any of their children being in an unconventional relationship, especially not _Ronan_. She follows Mia on Instagram. Mia loved him in all his stages of terrible hair choices. She will love him with four extra people.

_I think you gotta just bite the bullet and say it out loud_, she tells him. _You'll just keep worrying about it until you do, right? And she won't be using that time to get used to the idea, so it's just stress with no benefit._

She hits send and immediately regrets it. _Obviously easier to say than to do! Also I'm probably an idiot who you shouldn't listen to, this is not my area of expertise and I don't want it to sound like I know everything or whatever._

_hey now, that's my friend you're talking about,_ Ronan sends, because of course the first thing he focuses on is her negative self-talk. She gets it, though. Easier to deflect to someone else than look at your own emotional work. Dots again, and then: _You're right about the other thing though, I think. Then I can worry AND she can think about it. Gotta love some multi-tasking._

_I hope it goes really well_, Akilah sends. _Do you want to practice on me? I could totes be Mia Farrow for a phone call._

She gets back a laughing emoji and a _I think I’m gonna call the real one, now. Thanks, though_

_any time_, she sends. _any reasonable time, obv. _

_I'll endeavour to keep that in mind._

_let me know how it gooooooes. I want to knoooooow._ She knows he knows what she means. She's there for him, if he wants it.

_Promise_, he agrees, and she sets her phone down and falls back asleep.

***

**5\. Mia**

Mia isn’t sure she’s seen Ronan quite this nervous before. Even the call after that perhaps unfortunate headline—well, and that other unfortunate headline—well. Mia cut back on interviews, so it’s been a while since Ronan has been this sensitive about a subject with her. 

Jonathan taught her how to FaceTime the last time he and Ronan were down at the farm, so she can see the hesitation on Ronan's face, the way he's forcing himself to meet her eyes.

"Sweetheart," she says. "Just tell me whatever it is." Bowie scampers past her, a blur on her little inset on the screen. "It's _me_." 

"It’s a big ask," he says. "About Christmas."

Mia doesn’t let her face fall. "You and Jon aren’t coming." It’s more of a sentence than a question; it’s so clear in his face that she has to prepare for this disappointment.

"No, no, we are," Ronan says, quickly. "If you'll—that's sort of what I have to ask. If we can come, and bring some other people with us. Jon and Emily, and Tommy and Hanna. If we could bring them too."

Mia knows those names, she's pretty sure. She's been to live shows, she's hip to Jon's friends. "From Jon's podcast? They aren't visiting their own families? I mean, of course you can bring them, sweetheart, that's not a problem. We've always got room for more." She wants to mean it, but—hmm. If she puts one couple up at Dylan's—or, no, Quincy and her husband could stay there, and the podcasters in the house. Although it's nice to have Coretta close, and—

"You wouldn't need any extra guest rooms," Ronan says, quiet, interrupting her train of thought.

Something in his voice stops her before she says anything else, anything immediate and easy like whether the couples wouldn't want their own rooms, want some privacy. "Sweetheart," she says again, carefully. "Whatever you're trying to tell me, you know it's absolutely fine with me, okay?"

The picture is grainy, but she sees enough. Not a wince, and not a smile, but something in between the two. "It's—they're—Jonathan and I, and Jon and Emily and Tommy and Hanna, all of us, we're—we've been—we're a unit. Um. Do you know what polyamory is?"

_I know what swinging is_, Mia thinks and doesn't say. "I think I understand," she says. "But I'll get a book about it, just to make sure. And you'd all be comfortable in the pink room? Because I don't mind if—you know, even that year Jennifer wanted her own room, sometimes people want space."

"Jennifer and—" Ronan does wince, that time. "They got divorced, Mom. Anyway. The pink room would be great. Thank you. You'll really like them, I promise. Hanna, you're gonna love Hanna, she's a lot like Jonathan but also not at all, I don't know how to explain it. And you've met Jon and Tommy, and Emily's a delight, I think she and Dylan are gonna get along really well. The kids will love them."

"I'm already looking forward to it," she says. He knows she means it: his face relaxes, just slightly, but she can tell. She can always tell, with Ronan. She's spent years understanding him, being the person he knows will know.

"Thanks," he says, quiet. "And, uh—it’s more—it’s personal, so."

"No interview slips," she interprets. "My lips are zipped."

She’s curious—very curious, now she’s had a moment to adjust to the idea. But she knows Ronan won’t want to field questions right away. She’ll pin him down in person. And Jonathan, come to that. Is he—_involved_ with Emily and—what was it—Sarah?

She's not going to ask right now, not when he's looking so relieved. There'll be time over Christmas for that, and apparently five people to watch him interact with. "And you're happy?" she asks. "You and Jonathan, and the others? You know that's all I care about."

His smile is obviously genuine, even through the camera. "I—yeah," he says. "This is probably your fault, you know. Raising me to like having a big family. It’s—that’s the—"

He stops, but it’s enough to make her heart swell. "I’m glad, sweetheart. I want that for you." She can ask questions on _other_ topics, surely. "And you aren’t getting distracted from the important work you’re doing to protect journalists from—"

"Moooom."

"Okay, okay," she says, holding up her hands and laughing. "Tell me about Pundit?"

"_Well_," Ronan starts, and launches into his story.

***

They arrive in a clump, on Tuesday morning, four days before Christmas. They aren’t all staying for the duration, she’s been told, but they’re all getting a few days here. She’s getting a few days with all of them.

Ronan must have rented a car; it isn’t the little sedan he keeps in the city that pulls up, but an SUV better suited to carrying five passengers comfortably.

Ronan's driving, and sitting up front with him is Tommy, who somehow manages to look the most nervous Mia has seen him, in their admittedly few interactions, while also keeping his expression entirely blank.

She wants to go out and greet them; she also, very much, wants a glimpse of their interactions. She wants Ronan to have what works best for him, whatever supports him in his good work, but it’s ... it’s a little difficult to wrap her head around. Three, she could definitely understand, although her experience of threesomes was that the sum was less than the whole of the parts. But six is—well. Six seems like a lot.

Ronan says he's happy—that they're all happy—and Mia has seen too many lows and loved him too much to be anything but supportive, even if she's not certain of the logistics. Tommy's the first one out of the car, opening the back door for—Emily, she thinks, is the blonde one, and then Jonathan, scrambling out after her, both of them travel-mussed. Emily's eyes go wide at the sight of the farmhouse.

Mia can’t hear them, but she can certainly grasp Emily’s excited gestures and Jonathan’s casual-proud brushoff. Once they’re out, Jon emerges, and a beautiful brunette who must be Sarah. Hanna. Hanna. They certainly are an attractive group of people, there’s no question about that.

Jon seems shy, hanging back, and Jonathan spots it, going to his side, saying something that makes him laugh, throwing his head back. Tommy and Ronan are getting the bags out of the trunk, and—there—Tommy's in Ronan's personal space so easily, without questioning, the way she's only seen Jonathan do before. It's long-term, then, what they have. It's been happening for a while.

And Ronan hadn’t told her until he had to. That stings. But there’s something about the way they distribute the bags that helps soothe it. Maybe, with six, you can’t rush anything, even if you want to.

They aren’t rushing inside, certainly. Emily hands a shoulder bag to Ronan and brushes a kiss over his cheek, and Ronan takes a deep breath, looking less nervous.

Mia can use that as a cue, surely. She opens the front door, hurrying down the porch steps. "Ronan!" she calls. "Everyone! It's so good to see you!"

Jon seems to shrink back further, but that's okay. It must be nerve-wracking, meeting your partner's mom. Significant other's mom? She'll have to ask Ronan what vocabulary he'd like her to use.

"Let me carry something," she insists, and Jonathan, who knows she means it, swings a lightweight bag towards her on his way into a hug. It's tight and familiar, and she whispers, "I love you," into his ear, because—because she does, and because of the two of them, it's Jonathan she finds hardest to picture sharing Ronan with four other people.

"Don't make me cry before we've even got into the house," he whispers back, but he squeezes her tight.

He gestures toward the group as he lets go, keeping one arm around her. "This is Jon, you've met. His wife, Emily—Emily, this is Mia."

"Uh, I see that," Emily says. "Hi, thanks for letting us all invade your house. I promise, they're all well-behaved."

"Moderately well-behaved," Hanna says, coming forwards. "Hi! Are you a hugging person?"

Mia is absolutely a hugging person with people that love her son.

Hanna hugs warm and friendly, not too much patting, and Tommy’s behind her, offering a much larger hug. By the time everyone’s inside, she’s smiling. These people are gentle and she knows they care about doing good; those are the things that matter.

"Ronan, you know where you're all staying," she says. "Why don't you all go on up and get settled?"

She wants to follow, to hover around the door and watch them putting their things away, divvying space. She stays downstairs, calling Winnie for help with the salad and Maureen to set the table. "Twelve places," she tells her. "It'll be twenty tomorrow! Isn't that exciting?"

Maureen shuffles in with her rubber chicken safely under one arm. "Do they want to see my chicken?" she asks, and from the stairwell, there's a strangled squawk of laughter, hastily muffled.

"Absolutely, sweetheart," Mia tells her. "_After_ you set the table, you can go and call everyone to dinner, and you can show everyone your chicken."

"I want to show them my sword," Winnie says.

"I’m going to have six partners," Maureen muses quietly, to herself or to the chicken. "Seven. And uncle Ronan will only have five and I’ll win."

"That's the spirit," Mia says, heading for the kitchen, and just as she does, there's a voice from behind her.

"It's good for him not to win at everything," Hanna—Mia’s pleased with herself for getting it right—says, stepping into the dining room. "Hey, um, Maureen? Lovett—Jonathan says you have a cool chicken?"

"_Uncle_ Jonathan," Winnie corrects, officiously. Dylan has been working on the officiousness, but it’s a family trait and hard to discourage.

Maureen is above the fray, busy introducing her chicken. "—and he makes a better noise than all the other chickens we’ve tried, it’s like a real chicken, listen—" She squeezes it, and Mia closes her eyes for a long moment and breathes through the irritation of the noise.

"That’s your third squawk for the day, Maureen. Everyone else will have to hear it tomorrow." Mia can only handle so much. 

"It's a great chicken," Hanna says. "Lov—Uncle Jonathan makes a great chicken noise too, did you teach him?"

"No," Maureen tells her, delivering it as a fact. "Do you know how tall a pony can be?"

Mia can see Hanna struggling to keep up with the changes of topic. "Aren’t they, uh, all different heights? I’ve seen really little ones."

"Girls, horse facts can wait until dinner. Can you start gathering everyone up?" Mia smiles at Hanna, trying to communicate that she can escape if she wants. Hanna smiles back, but she follows Maureen out, making active listening noises in response to Maureen’s precise description of the differences between ponies, horses, and miniature horses as they head toward the bedrooms. 

Winnie taps Mia on the arm. "I'm going to show everyone my sword," she says. "After dinner. Do you think they'll like it?"

"I'm sure they'll be very happy to learn about it, sweetheart. Come and help me with the salad. You can bring the sword too, it can stand guard."

There are footsteps on the stairs, multiple people, and Jonathan's distinctive laugh.

The dining room fills up fast, even with just twelve. Between one thing and another, Mia’s bustling and serving and clearing without much chance to actually get to know her new guests until an hour after, when the kids have gone home and the remaining adults, following Ronan and Jonathan’s example, settle into the living room with glasses of wine.

Mia is just following them, having run the dishwasher, when Ronan pads out to find her. He's in socked feet, changed out of jeans into sweatpants, and he's wearing his glasses, soft and comfortable. Sometimes he looks so young.

"Everyone's, uh, everyone feels really welcome," he says. "Thanks. I really—um, thanks."

She can't pretend to herself that it isn't a little strange to hear _Jonathan_ transform into the much larger picture of _everyone_, but she puts that aside and reaches for his hand. "I'm so glad, sweetheart. I'm looking forward to getting to know them. Unless you wanted the living room to yourselves tonight?"

"Mom, no," he says, mildly scandalized, and she flaps her hands at him, laughing.

"Not like that, I don't know why you always think that's what I mean. Don't make that face at me, young man, I'm your mother."

"Gah," Ronan says. "No, we don't—it would be great if you want to come sit with us. They're, uh, they're all good conversationalists." He laughs. "Never a dull moment, that's for sure, with three boyfriends who talk for a living."

Three boyfriends. Mia remembers her serious-eyed little boy wandering the house with his head in a book and a chick in his hand, shifting his eyes away from dresses like he was doing something wrong. "Come here," she says, and draws him in, hugging him close.

He comes in easily, more than he did for some of the hard years in between, folding himself into her arms. "They do good in the world, yes?" she asks him. He nods. "They treat you well?"

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, they kind of gang up on me about, you know, eating and sleeping and not working twenty hours a day, but—"

"I like that," she agrees. "That's my kind of ganging up."

"Of course it is," Ronan says. She can feel him smiling. "It's what you do."

"It’s love," she tells him, and lets go, wanting to see his face. "Isn’t it?"

"It—yeah," he says. She knows; he wouldn’t have brought them here, otherwise. "Yeah. Come sit with us?"

"I’ll put a few things away and then come through," she promises. She wants to get to know her son’s new loves.

Dylan texts her later, when she's headed up to bed. _did maureen stick to the three chicken squawk rule?_

Mia goes to get her glasses. She vastly prefers talking on the phone; texting always seems to involve a lot of the keyboard changing her words for her and capitalizing against her will. But after the first dozen or so times she’d accidentally woken Evangeline up by calling Dylan at the cottage, she learned her lesson.

_3 chicken squawks_, she sends. _And she showed everyone all of her riding medals separately._

Dylan sends back one of the smiley faces, and then _sooooooo???? how was Ro’s big polycube thing???_

_They're lovely_, Mia tells her. _Jon is shy!_ That's been the most surprising thing, somehow. She wouldn't have gotten that from listening to their show.

_OUR jonathan????_ Dylan sends, and then, _oh the other one._

_It is a bit confusing,_ Mia agrees. _But they’re all very nice. When should I expect you tomorrow? I’m sure they’ll all be glad to meet you._

_after I get Quincy & co at the airport. Early aft maybe? We’ll get lunch on the road no worries_

_Yes, that sounds good._ There's a sudden, loud snort of laughter from downstairs that makes Mia smile. _Ronan seems very happy._

_I’m glad,_ Dylan sends back. _kind of figures he’d go big or go home even when it comes to relationships. even more so than Jonathan already counts for that_

_He does seem to gravitate towards big personalities_, Mia sends. _I think you'll like them. They're all very kind._

_good. I’m gonna send Evangeline over early with Dana and most of the gifts. still wrapping some. see you tomorrow <333_

_Goodnight, darling,_ Mia sends back, and takes her glasses off. It’s going to be a nice Christmas this year, she’s sure of it.

***

**(6. Ronan)**

Ronan can't get used to having everyone in his childhood home. Not in a bad way at all, just that every time he comes into a room and Emily is there, legs slung over Tommy's lap, or Jon is poking sleepily at the coffee machine, or Hanna is running around outside in rainboots with Wynnie, it's just—it does a lot, for his heart. All his people, in one place. He remembers how nervous he was to bring Jonathan here for the first time, and now Jonathan is here showing the others around, reminding them about the wonky step at the top of the staircase, about the kitchen window that sticks.

They’re all getting comfortable, is the part that feels a little overwhelming. Tommy and Hanna playing with Coretta while Quincy tells them stories about growing up here; Emily assisting Lovett with his latest holiday-baking adventure, locating equipment in the kitchen cabinets for him. Jon watching screeners with his mom.

He knows they’re faking it, to some extent—being the best guests they can be, because it’s important—but that doesn’t make it feel any less wonderful. More, maybe, that they chose to come here, knowing the pressure of all these eyes on them.

They've got another full day before some of them start leaving, heading off to other family Christmases, but they can all feel the time ending, like the last couple of days of a holiday. Ronan finds himself wanting to be near everyone all at once, takes to wandering the house to look in on everyone, Jonathan following him with a diet coke.

Jonathan has a few times suggested they could all sneak off for an afternoon. "There’s that Comfort Inn down at the 395, we could say we’re all going antiquing."

Jonathan feels strongly that the sexual perks of the communal lifestyle can’t be scoffed at. Ronan does too, really, but—they only gave a handful of days here, and he wants, maybe selfishly, to spend them _here_.

They are all sharing one room, a couple of double beds shoved together. It's a bit of a squeeze but it's working fine, especially with the way Jon clings in his sleep, like he wants to touch every part of everyone like a big romantic security blanket.

Better yet is the late morning when it’s only a few of them, whoever can sleep through the noise. Jonathan, always, and a rotating cast otherwise. Tommy the first morning, with Hanna half on top of him; Ronan himself this morning, and Jon because he’d climbed back in after a run, cuddly and checking Twitter.

"You smell like outside," Ronan had told him, half asleep, and Jon had laughed, and kissed the back of his neck.

Now, the weather looks suspiciously damp outside, and people are finding their way indoors. His mom's got a fire going in a couple of the rooms, so at least he knows where he'll find Jonathan, bundled under a comforter.

He finds Emily with him, the two of them bundled up together with their backs against the brick shelf under the fireplace. It's tempting to try to join them, but there isn't enough space and he knows from long experience that the shelf digs into his back.

"Come sit on the couch?" he suggests. "I'll keep you warm."

"Not believable," Emily tells him. "Get Tommy and I'll think about it."

"Deal," Ronan says. "You're gonna want to move anyway, though; that shelf gets awfully jabby."

He last saw Tommy doing a puzzle in the den, so that's where he heads. "Cuddle round-up," he announces. He and Tommy both find it hard to ask for what they want, so they've made a pact between the two of them: unvarnished, straight to the point. They can do that, together.

It helps, admittedly, that no one is visibly around to hear him. What he’s comfortable admitting to Tommy—and to Jonathan and the rest of his people—is a little different from what he really wants his family to hear.

He’s about to go cuddle in the middle of the living room, prime fire-and-Christmas-tree area, though, so—that counts. All of this counts, he’s pretty sure. He gets some very real living openly and honestly points from this whole trip.

His mom probably thinks she's being very subtle about how she keeps glancing at the group of them, smiling to herself, but she's really not. Ronan can see it written all over her face, the way she's fascinated, happily, with how well they all work.

Anyway, Hanna and Jon to go. They're easily found, throwing balls by the lake for the dogs, and easily convinced to come in and shuck their damp layers, Hanna shrieking happily when Jon pretends he’s going to put his cold hands on her skin as they tumble inside.

The dogs even come in happily too, submit to being thoroughly toweled and then dart off to find Evangeline, reliable sources of dropped crumbs that she is. Ronan trails Jon and Hanna into the living room and finds the other three blanketed on one end of the couch, plenty of room for three more.

Jonathan looks burritoed, tucked under a quilt up to his neck. "You promised to keep us warm," he says, as Ronan appears. He doesn't move, but he still manages to communicate _get over here_ with every fibre of his being.

"I think Emily and Tommy have that covered," Ronan tells him, but climbs into the middle, against Tommy’s side. Tommy makes room for him and Jonathan’s hand extends around to play with the hair at the back of Ronan’s neck. It’s nice. It’s nicer still when Jon and Hanna squeeze in, covering themselves and Ronan with yet more blankets.

Even on his mom's biggest couch, it's still a bit of a squeeze for the six of them, but it works. Bundled up together is how they like to be.

Ronan’s more than a little bit on Tommy’s lap. It’s been a somewhat new experience being noticeably smaller—or larger—than someone he’s dating, after years of sharing clothes with Jonathan.

Tommy shifts, and then Ronan's in the middle of a Tommy-Jonathan sandwich, Jonathan's hand still at the back of his neck and Tommy sneaking a long arm around his waist, keeping him where he is. Emily kicks her legs up as best she can over as many people as she can, leaning back onto Hanna, and Jonathan grumbles that she's kicking him, but he doesn't mean it.

They’re tangled up like that when Quincy comes in carrying Coretta and a mug. "There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen," she says, settling onto the armchair. "I think everyone’s going to come in here with it."

"Sure," Ronan says, and then thinks, _huh_. Because—because he _is_ sure. The others can come in, can see this pile of Ronan and his people. He almost wants them to see, see the tangle of them, the way Tommy looks almost relaxed for the first time since arriving, the way Hanna is luminously beautiful by the firelight. Jonathan, peeking his nose over a blanket to say, "Hey, wait, hot chocolate? Ronan, you didn't mention there was hot chocolate. Did he tell you guys there was hot chocolate?"

"I'll get up," Jon offers, but Kim's coming in and hears them, says, "We'll bring a bunch. Six?"

"None for me, thanks," Tommy says. "Five. Thanks." A polite and dairy-averse gentleman, Tommy is.

"There's oat milk," Kim says, "if you'd like?"

"I, uh," Tommy starts, and Lovett elbows him in the side.

"It's family, Thomas, you're not being intrusive."

"That would be really nice, thank you."

Kim sends the kids to handle the cocoa orders, bringing her own mug and blanket over to sit on the floor with Coretta, at Quincy's feet. Her husband isn't here—still deployed, Ronan's pretty sure—but the kids came, and she came. Because at Christmas, this is where they all want to be, together. This is where he wanted to be, and where he wanted to be with his, as Jonathan puts it, Significant Number of Others.

He wants very badly to put his face in Tommy's neck for a moment, breathe him in, so he does. He lets himself close his eyes, take a breath. Jonathan is pressed up against him, fingers still carding through his hair, and Tommy kisses the top of his head.

He can't easily reach the other three, but he's starting to get used to that. Not to _turns_, because it isn't like that, really, but to it being all right if Emily and Hanna are cuddling and Ronan's over here, this time, because it will probably be different another time.

The thought makes him turn enough that he can see Jon, who's been struggling with that. Jon gives him a wry smile, and makes a show of snuggling down against Hanna, letting himself relax into the moment. Hanna relaxes back against him in turn, Emily in her arms.

“You’re pretty,” Emily whispers up at her, and Hanna kisses the top of her head, saying, “You’re pretty too.”

A bevy of the older kids come in with mugs, and Ronan sits up enough to safely handle his and to accept Jonathan's, because Jonathan seems to have no interest in making himself vertical just yet. Tommy's hasn't come out yet, but Emily and Hanna and Jon cup theirs, breathing in the scent. "It's the good stuff," Ronan tells them. "Valhrona."

"Oh, no, I stopped buying that this year after your sister sent me an article about making hot chocolate with Nutella," his mom says, coming in with two mugs and handing one to Tommy. She smiles down at them. "It's even better, it turns out. And no more having to import those huge bags of cocoa powder—all that work! I just go to Costco now."

"See, Mom," Quincy says, "I knew you'd like it!" 

Ronan takes a sip despite knowing it's going to be too hot. It _is_ too hot, and slightly awkward to manage considering he's still holding Jonathan's mug, but it is good. "That's really good," he says, and predictably, Jonathan emerges from his blanket nest, eyeing his mug. Ronan catches Tommy's eye, and suppresses a smile.

When he's handed over Jonathan's drink, and Emily is tucking Jonathan's blanket over her own feet too, Quincy is looking at him. "What?" he asks."Nothing," she says. "Just, you look happy."

Jonathan is making aggrieved noises at Emily about blanket theft. Tommy is solid and strong beside him. Jon and Hanna are curled together at the end of the couch, like two picture-perfect peas in a pod.

Ronan looks happy, huh? "Yeah," he says, and feels warm down to his bones. "Yeah, I am."

***

Ronan’s restless; he stays up after even Jonathan has given up and gone to bed. The fire is embers and the house is quiet, and Ronan’s heart is full.

He texts Priyanka, suddenly wanting to see Pundit. Priyanka might be up, out on the West Coast. _How’s my girl?_

Predictably, he gets a proof-of-life-style photo back a minute later, complete with today’s Times. Pundit’s nosing at it, looking sleepy and confused. _Thanks_, he sends back. _Jon and Emily should be picking her up tomorrow._

_She misses you_, Priyanka sends, and then there's another picture of Pundit with a copy of Catch and Kill open on her back. 

_More than Jonathan?_

_Lovett pays me_, Priyanka sends. _Their love is true and pure._

Ronan stifles a laugh. _You seeing your family after she gets picked up?_

_Yah. Or tell the Favses to leave her and I'll bring her to Chi-town and show her the sights_

_You try and take her from Jon,_ Ronan says. _I'm sure that will go well when he's_ He stops typing. He was about to say, when he's missing his people, but—what can he say, to Priyanka? What does he want to?

She knows; he knows she knows, from comments she’s made around the office, friendly ones that have filtered back to him through Jonathan and Jon and Tommy. She _knows_, and she’s cool with it, and she loves his dog. She’s about as safe a testing ground as his family. Easier, even.

_I’m sure that will go well when he misses me&Lovett&Tom&Hanna_, he finishes it, and hits send.

_He misses Lovett and Tommy when they go out for LUNCH_, Priyanka sends, without missing a beat. _I can't steal his PUPPY_

_My_ puppy, Ronan thinks. He’s adjusted to a lot, but not yet to communal dog ownership. Neither has Jonathan, he’s pretty sure, for whom Pundit is the only living creature who lives with him full time. _Thanks again for watching her_, he sends, because he can’t think how else to acknowledge her chillness. How else to say _thanks for seeing us, because we can’t show ourselves to everyone._

_sure thing_, she sends, and then another picture of Pundit, this one clearly from earlier: Pundit's on her back with her paws up, blissful, getting petted within an inch of her life.

It's a little bit—okay, now he knows he's just being too introspective and he should go to bed, but it's a little bit how he pictures the realities of his new relationship. Relationships. The whole new—situation. It's a little bit like Pundit in that picture, who can be so overwhelmed with happiness when she's at the office or hanging out with Democratic primary candidates or Megan Rapinoe, but who will be overwhelmed with joy when Jonathan gets home. Pundit's love of other people doesn't diminish her love of Jonathan, or of Ronan himself.

It's as though he's summoned him: there's a padding on the stairs, and then a rumpled Jonathan appears, glasses on and curls everywhere. He squints against the low light.

"What are you doing? Favreau's been snoring for the last half hour and my phone ran out of battery and you said you'd bring the charger. And Hanna is kicking again. And—" it is at this point Ronan notices Jonathan has stolen one of his t-shirts to sleep in "—and... come to bed."

"Love you," Ronan tells him, meaning it. "Just texting Priyanka about the Pundit transfer tomorrow."

"We’ll see them in a week," Lovett tells him, stepping close enough that Ronan can rest his forehead on Jonathan’s belly, an arm around Jonathan to keep him close.

"I know," Ronan says. "Not here, though. You know?"

"I do know," Jonathan says, and bends down to kiss the top of his head. Ronan gives himself a couple of minutes to stay like that, folded warm into Jonathan, breathing him in. He smells like Ronan's mom's detergent and Ronan's shower gel and, inevitably, slightly of Jon's hair product, because that somehow gets everywhere.

"Is everyone asleep?"

Jonanthan shrugs, against him. "Tommy's on his phone with the brightness turned all the way down, you know how he gets."

Ronan does know, but he wants to see it. Jon and Emily and Hanna sleeping in a pile, and Tommy failing to sleep, and Jonathan waking up with four warm bodies but coming to look for him anyway. "Okay. Let's go to bed."


End file.
